


Short Drop and a Sudden Stop

by E707



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Incest, M/M, Slow Burn, The Ricklantis Mixup, all the angst you could want and more, rickmorty, set during s03e07, some serious pining
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-02
Updated: 2018-07-26
Packaged: 2019-01-28 10:35:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 2,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12604656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/E707/pseuds/E707
Summary: "No." Rick says quickly, harshly. "I mean, I'm not," he catches Morty's gaze, holds it. "I'm not like that. I'm not one of those Ricks."





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I just couldn't help thinking that Rookie Cop Rick and Campaign Manager Morty would understand each other so I had to ship it what can I say? Plus there's just so much potential for delicious angst between these two, I couldn't resist!
> 
> This story is gonna take the form of a bunch of vignettes, which I think fits the episode it's based on. It's also gonna be a bit of a slow mover at first, but we will arrive at the sin, I promise you.

Fresh out of training, and he can hardly believe his luck.

"I've got a 9-22," Rick declares, to the comm unit strapped to the wrist of the hand he isn't using to pin a drug dealer to the brick wall of a strip club. "All units please respond."

The comm crackles like an open portal, and out of the corner of his eye, Rick spots him.

A Morty, frightened and flighty. Likely the mule.

"Hey," Rick says, can see in the kid's eyes that he knows he's been made. "Don't-"

He runs.


	2. Chapter 2

Every day, he sees Mortys suffering at the hands of Ricks.

He finds them, huddled in burnt out houses, standing dead-eyed on the street, hiding beneath the underpass, cold and dirty and bruised. They reach out with desperate hands, smear mud and blood and semen on his uniform as they look up at him with dark, hollow eyes and promise they'll be good, they'll make him feel good, for a little money, for a bit of food. 

It fills his throat with bile. Makes him want to scream, want to weep. 

_These are our grandsons_ , he hollers as he beats a Rick pimp to within an inch of his life one dark day when he can't stand seeing it any more. _These are our children_. 

"They're just Mortys," his supervisor tells him, and lets him off with a warning. 

But a Morty is a privilege, he thinks. 

A Morty is to be protected. 


	3. Chapter 3

The streets are winding and Rick thinks he knows them well, but the kid knows them better.

As the yellow blur of hormone-fueled panic weaves around sharp alley corners, Rick does everything he can to keep up, knows that he has to move just a little faster-

"Wait!" He shouts, spots the pedestrian just moments before collision, doesn't slow in time. Paper and polaroids cascade through the air, blinding him for just a moment, and it's enough to lose the chase.

Rick can do nothing but watch as the key witness to his arrest peels away into the distance, heaves for breath as he turns and looks down at the pavement.

Another Morty, better dressed than most, scrambles to collect the scattered contents of the folder he still clutches tightly to his chest, and Rick kneels beside him on the cracked concrete.

"Are you alright, sir?" He asks, collecting what he can before it's picked up by an errant wind or the static drag of a passing car, can't help when his gaze catches on a photo as he picks it up off the asphalt.

It's snatched out of his hand before he gets a proper look.

"I'm fine." The Morty says shortly, brow creased in a deep, aggravated furrow. "Thank you, officer."

"Who are these photos of?" Rick asks, because something about it doesn't sit quite right with him. "Why are you keeping them?"

"They're..." The Morty looks up, meets his eyes for the first time, and closes his mouth in a thin, hard line. "I have my reasons."

Rick pauses. "You can tell me if you're in trouble, you know," he says, academy vernacular rolling off his tongue. "I'm here to help."

The boy laughs sharply, and Rick might have been insulted, if he didn't find it so sad.

"You can tell me," he says again, softly, and hopes that his sincerity is enough.

The Morty stares at him, and Rick can see the struggle. Can see every muscle in the teenager's body twitching with the impulse to turn and walk away, knows that he is thinking what every Morty thought in situations just like these; _Ricks don't care about Mortys_.

Eventually, tensely, and maybe less because he does think Rick cares, and more because he really is in over his head, the boy nods.

"Ok." He says.


	4. Chapter 4

The coffee in the diner is terrible, and the aproned Morty who swans by to refill their cups eyes the two of them like he knows something about them that isn't true, but it's secluded, and it's safe.

The kid tells Rick everything.

"I - I know, it seems impossible," he says, agitated, gesticulating wildly. "B-but I worked for the guy, I _saw_ him take the podium at the debate, he's no ordinary Morty. And these pictures-"

"I believe you." Rick says.

"You..." Morty falters. "Y-you do?"

Rick doesn't mention his partner, doesn't explain how he knows that a Morty can be dangerous, just as dangerous as a Rick, if they want to be. He doesn't talk about the things he's seen.

"I don't know what the endgame is," Rick pauses, uses his hands to cover the polaroids piled on the table between them as the waiter walks by, drops his voice by an octave or two.  "... or who gave you these photos, but if this Morty really is who you say he is, then we have to stop him winning the election."

Shock, and the barest glimmer of hope, shines in Morty's eyes as he leans closer to Rick. "No one will believe us," he whispers.

Rick leans closer still. "Then we'll have to prove it," he replies.

The ghost of a relieved smile hovers at the corners of Morty's mouth and Rick almost returns it, before something seems to turn over in the teenager's mind, and his expression morphs into one of suspicion.

"Look..." Morty retreats back into his seat, eyes fixed on the papers he shuffles nervously in his hands, voice dark with annoyance. "I appreciate you listening to me, and all, but if you - If you're, y-you know... if you're only here cause you're hoping for a, uh, a - a good time..."

It's enough to make his stomach churn.

"No." Rick says quickly, harshly. "I mean, I'm not," he catches Morty's gaze, holds it. "I'm not like that. I'm not one of those Ricks."

A long silence passes between them during which Morty regards Rick carefully, and at long last, seems satisfied with what he finds.

"Alright," he says, _I trust you,_ he doesn't say. "Then... let's do this."


	5. Chapter 5

Rick had never had a Morty. He hadn't even had a Beth. 

He isn't sure exactly where he went wrong, what he did differently. Never met the right person, he guesses. Wasn't in the right place at the right time. 

He never is. 


	6. Chapter 6

They meet most nights, to go over the facts, to share what they've learned. 

Morty's eyes are dark and heavy-lidded, and he looks deathly pale under the florescent lights. Too many sleepless hours spent pouring over the too-scant documents and silent photographs, begging them to divulge their secrets, to show him what he isn't seeing. 

It was infuriating, to have all the pieces laid out in front of them and still only half of the puzzle - a Rick reduced to a cyborg puppet, the mysterious disappearance of his only accomplice, and now this Morty candidate, who has captured the hearts of the people of the Citadel, who has maimed and murdered his way to the greatest seat of power in the central finite curve.

Nothing could be more dangerous than to accuse him too early, to go in unprepared. 

Morty runs over every point of their investigation again and again, alive with the need to find the truth behind it all, and Rick contributes what he can because he, too, wants what's best for the Citadel, for the futures of all Ricks and Mortys, and because he can't bear to leave this Morty to do it all on his own. 

They part ways at the diner door just as the Citadel's artificial sunlight has begun creeping over the city streets, and Morty turns to him as he always does, says; "something needs to be done." 

Rick agrees. 

Something, they know, but they don't know what. 


	7. Chapter 7

Rick is more than a little surprised when Morty is the first to throw in the towel, decide that they need a good night's rest for once.

"No point burning ourselves out," he says, and he's right.

But the truth is they need new leads. They need more evidence. They're running out of time.

Rick peers over his shoulder as he walks away, watches Morty's retreating back from the corner of his eye, loses sight of him as he disappears down a street corner into the dark, and he stills.

Maybe it's some sense of misplaced paternal concern, or prejudice on his part. Maybe it's the job, getting to him, making him suspect the worst.

But it feels a hell of a lot like instinct when he turns, boots pounding the rain-soaked pavement as he follows Morty's trail, stealing along treacherous back paths and sinisterly-lit alleyways until the sound of voices stops him in his tracks.

"I got what you asked for," he can hear a Rick say, low and harsh.

"You were supposed to follow him," someone hisses, a Morty, not just any Morty.

"Yeah?" The Rick counters, sounds aggressive, possible intoxication. "Well I decided you didn't pay me enough."

"We had a deal-"

"I don't give a _fuck_ about the deal."

Rick's hand grips his pistol tightly in its holster as a sour feeling settles in his gut, deeper than dread and too much like fear.

"I already gave you 600 flurbos, I told you it's all I had-"

"You know what I could do to you?" The old man says coarsely, sounds of a struggle. "Out here all alone, a cute little Morty like you..."

Without hesitation, Rick launches himself into the alley, gun drawn.

"Hey!" He bellows, feels his teeth grit as he takes in the scene, Morty with his back pressed against brick, the assailant's bony fingers twisting in his shirt. "Back away! Now!"

The man stares at Rick, dumbfounded, before his face distorts in unbridled rage.

"You fucking nark!" The old man shrieks at Morty, spittle flying as he shoves the boy hard, grips his neck.

"I said back off!" Rick roars.

"I'll fucking kill y-!"

Rick's hands are steadier than they've ever been as he pulls the trigger, watches the man drop like a sack of meat into the gutter.

A moment of tense stillness passes. There is nothing but the sound of their heaving lungs, nothing but the steam of the overloaded heat sink rising from his gun.

"What the hell did you think you were doing?" Rick demands at last, rounding on Morty. "Do you have any - _any_ idea h-how stupid, what could have..." The faces of a hundred Mortys, of beaten, violated, murdered Mortys flash before his eyes.

Morty looks down at the body, then up at Rick.

"You saved my life," he breathes.

Rick's heart is pounding, beating like a drum against his ribs.

"It's my job," he says, hollow and untrue. 

Morty's eyes are so impossibly wide, full of something far too close to awe, and Rick has to look away.

"You need to go," he says, deadly quiet. "I'll... I'll call it in. Attempted robbery. No one at the station will ask questions."

"Right," Morty stands and stares, lingers like he has something more to say.

The sound of wet concrete crunching under the teenager's shoes is his only parting farewell. Rick exhales shakily, reaches for the comm unit strapped to his chest.

"All patrols, shots fired in downtown sector 12," he murmurs, and doesn't even recognise his own voice. "Officer R-Zeta-2102 requesting immediate assistance."


	8. Chapter 8

Rick tries to feel proud to have a Morty for a partner, but mostly he just feels sorry.

"Scum," the boy sneers, speeding down the streets of Mortytown with anger seeping from his skin, from beneath the neatly pressed creases of his uniform. "Yellow-shirt scum, everywhere you turn."

Rick tries not to wonder how his partner became this way, what dimension he might have come from, or what cruel twist of fate brought him to the Citadel in the first place. Whether he had any hopes of getting back home.

He swerves the car down a tight street corner, almost runs a jaywalking Morty clean off the road, doesn't even blink.

"They aren't like us, you understand?" He says, turning a bitter eye on Rick. "They're feral. Nothing but Rickless degenerates."

Rick shifts uneasily. "We're no different from them," he replies, is careful to say _we_ and not _you_.

His partner scoffs, turns his attention back to the road. "Should all be put out of their misery," he mutters.

Rick frowns, feels a stab of something sharp and sad, and doesn't reply.


	9. Chapter 9

Something is wrong with me, Rick thinks. Something has changed.

"There's no evidence to suggest that he _isn't_ a citizen, originally, but there are no records of him in any Citadel institution - unless they were somehow erased..."

Something about the way Morty looks less often at the notes and more often at Rick, the openness of his expression, the way he meets Rick's gaze so easily, holds it for far longer than before.

It makes Rick restless, like he needs to move, like he needs to run a mile or two.

"It's possible, isn't it? It could be done, with the right tools. He would have needed help, though, on the inside. Is there anyone you know of, that could be in on it?"

"No," Rick says, clears his throat. "No, uh, no one on the force."

Morty drums his fingers against the table pensively, inches from Rick's hand. The vibration ripples over his skin, and he withdraws it quickly.

"Military, then. It makes sense, don't you think? How else could he have infiltrated so seamlessly?"

So blue. Were every Morty's eyes this blue?

"Could be." Rick says, and dedicates the same level of focus to stirring another sugar into his coffee as he would dismantling a live bomb.

Morty sighs, long and frustrated. Rick looks up just in time to watch him rake a hand through his short brown hair, to see how it curls under the touch.

"Or maybe none of this info is any good," Morty shoves at the wad of papers layered between them, margins overflowing with scribbles, desperate and tenuous connections. "Maybe that asshole forged it all for a - a quick paycheck."

The information they had gotten from their 'hired help' was good - a little too good, as Rick had been quick to point out. Probably some of it was real, but sorting the truth from the lies had been the problem with this case from the beginning, and it felt like the closer they looked the more unclear things became.

"Hey," Rick says gently, fights the sudden, alarming urge to reach out, to lay his hand on the kid's shoulder, on that soft brown hair. "It's... everything is gonna work out. We're in this together, remember?"

Morty's eyes gleam with it as he looks up at Rick, his smile soft and dangerous and full of that something, whatever it is that changed in that alley with Morty's back against the wall and Rick's gun in his hand and a dead body between them.

"Yeah," Morty replies. "I remember."


	10. Chapter 10

They watch the preliminaries from behind the dirty glass window of a Mortytown discount store, where every one of the secondhand RTVs lining the back wall is projecting the event with near-deafening volume.

_"I guess he's licked his last nib-nib, wouldn't you say, D716-B?"_

_"I sure would, D716. He really 'retired' his 'general' election lead with that stunt."_

_"And who would have guessed it, the Morty Candidate is soaring through the polls with a 62 percent approval rating, 33 points ahead of his nearest opponent..."_

The smiling face of the Morty in question fills every screen, a collage of sharp teeth under hard eyes, and Rick's heart sinks as the roar of the crowd crackles through the outdated sound system, filling the empty street around them with the ghostly cheers of his would-be victims.

"He..." Morty breathes from beside him, shaking his head. "We can't let him get away with it," he says, like he's asking Rick a question.

"He can't stop justice," Rick replies. "He can't stop the truth."

"If he wins, it won't matter what the truth is." Morty says, matter-of-fact. "They won't care. We could be arrested... or killed."

A dreadful resolve settles deep in Rick's stomach, hard and heavy as a cinderblock. "I won't let them." He says quietly, and means it, frightens himself with how fiercely he means it.

There's a beat of silence, and a small shoulder bumps his arm gently, playfully. He looks down and finds Morty gazing up.

"I know." The kid murmurs, as if to say, _me too_.

A powerful rush of affection sweeps over Rick's chest, rolls through every muscle in his body and leaves a chilled disquiet in its wake.

He doesn't sleep that night.


	11. Chapter 11

Rick stops touching Mortys while he's out on the job. Doesn't lay a comforting hand on their shoulder, doesn't help them to stand when they fall. He isn't sure why. It just doesn't feel right somehow, anymore.

His partner notices.

"Finally learning, huh?" He says approvingly, like it's something to be proud of, like it's progress.

It puts a knot in Rick's stomach that no amount of target practise can untie. 


	12. Chapter 12

Rick sits and watches Morty's mouth move around the syllables of his name, and he burns.


	13. Chapter 13

They're already headed out the door, exhausted from the work and restless from the coffee, when Morty's voice reaches Rick in the semi-darkness.

"We don't always have to meet here, you know." He tells him, quietly and without looking directly at Rick's face. "My place isn't far from here."

It's a sign of trust, and he needs to be careful. That's why his palms are sweating, Rick tells himself. That's why it makes him so nervous.

"Sure," he agrees, tries not to sound as uneasy as he feels. "Tomorrow?"

Morty hesitates, the light of the street lamp overhead reflecting in his eyes, making him seem suddenly older than he is, than Rick knows him to be.

He nods.

"Tomorrow." 


End file.
